This year’s seventh birthday taught me a lot about the meaning of the word – disaster.
Why? I can hear you thinking – how could any birthday be a disaster?
Oh it wasn’t, the birthday itself. It was the cake!
You see, every year, I scroll through Pinterest and do my very best to find a ‘simple’ idea, which I try to bake and decorate, and it looks average – distinctly average. But it’s ok because I’ve done my best and tried.
This year was the worst of all.
The request was in for a rainbow cake. Simple, blue icing, a few marshmallows, a little rainbow. How could I ruin that? Right?
I made a cake. A terrible cake that rose… and then drastically sank…
So I blamed the oven. I stropped, grumped and then Mike helped me make another cake to tide the grump. The cake was better. But magically I managed to make it drastically slope. I don’t even know how.
The icing wasn’t blue, it was bleugh. The sprinkles melted.
It was bad.
So I cried again. I’d like to blame the pregnancy hormones. I think in reality I was more disappointed I couldn’t do a simple job a parent should be able to do.
The next morning, I explained to Holly that I’d done my best to make her cake, but it wasn’t quite as expected. I showed it to her, and she said…
Like, actual WOW.
Then hugged me, asked if she could eat the marshmallows later and ran off to play in the garden.
She didn’t cake about the rise and the sink, she didn’t care about the melted sprinkles. She just saw I’d made her a cake. And that was enough.
So I cried again.
Definitely not the pregnancy hormones. Just the most wonderful seven year old in the world.
Happy Seventh Birthday beautiful girl.